FOR HER EYES ONLY Page 8

  She spoke so quietly, Jake couldn't be sure if she'd said the words or if his subconscious had whispered them.

  The first rule he'd learned after his mother's death was that he could never let anyone know how much he mourned her loss. Well, anyone else, anyway. After the funeral, still dressed in their new suits, Pops had dropped him and Connor off at school. He hadn't understood why at the time, but had since assumed that Sean thought it important for them to get back to a sense of normalcy as soon as possible. Only nothing had been normal. And when a bully two years his senior had made it his mission to get dirt on his suit during recess and Jake had found himself pinned to the ground under the older boy's weight, he'd repeatedly cried out for his mother in an agonized way that still echoed through his mind.

  He didn't talk to his father for what seemed like weeks afterward. In fact, he rarely spoke to anyone at all. Speaking meant revealing, and revealing meant being stripped of all but his most fundamental defenses.

  He realized the car was silent and looked at Michelle. Her brown eyes were moist, as though she'd seen what he'd been thinking. Understood his anguish better than anyone else ever could.

  He cleared the emotion dogging his throat. "It was … a long time ago. It's okay. I've adjusted."

  "I'm sorry. When I asked you why, I didn't mean to dredge up anything so painful. I guess I've spent too much time around my daughter. Sometimes it seems every other word out of her mouth is pourquoi—sorry, why."

  Jake thought of the woman next to him and mentally compared her to what he remembered about his mother. He couldn't say whether they were similar, except for the warm smile Michelle wore whenever she spoke of Lili. That look was intensely familiar. If there was one physical thing he remembered clearly, it was his mother's smile. The tremendous emotional impact of her absence was another. A sometimes tangible shadow against his soul. Always there inside him … at least, until now.

  Michelle absently traced a circle of heat on his thigh with her fingers. It was all he could do not to scoot farther down so the circle would be encompassing a completely different area indeed.

  "Do you know any French?" she asked.

  Jake's semiaroused state went up a notch. He found he liked her speaking in French, perhaps a little too much. But now was not the time to ask her to say something in it, not if he hoped to stay on the road. "A bit."

  "What? What do you know?"

  He'd never used his limited knowledge of foreign languages for conversational purposes and he felt awkward about doing it now. "Okay. Je m'appelle Jake McCoy. Agent Jake McCoy. Votre passeport, s'il vous plait. Par ici, s'il vous plait."

  Michelle didn't say anything for a long moment, then the hand disappeared from his thigh; her warmth vanished from his side. She moved to the passenger's seat. He didn't think it possible for two people to be in the same car yet be so far apart. The immediate change in temperature made him want to groan.

  "What? What is it? Did I mispronounce something?"

  She shook her head, keeping her gaze trained out the window. "No. Your pronunciation was good. Very good." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Too good."

  Then it hit him. In French he'd introduced himself as an agent, asked for her passport. then told her to come with him. Cripes, if anything could have underscored the seriousness of their current situation, that did. How stupid could he get?

  He cleared his throat. "What other things does Lili say?"

  For a long moment, Michelle didn't move, just sat staring out the window. Then her quiet voice filled the interior of the car like a welcome hum. "She's always asking how old she is."

  She fell silent again. Well, that attempt at getting things back on an even keel had certainly worked, hadn't it? If his questions would get only one-sentence responses, then this was going to be one hell of a long ride to Toledo.

  He chanced a glance in her direction. Rather than finding her sitting stoically ignoring him, she was fingering something she'd taken from inside her backpack, a faraway look on her face. "She was always disappointed when I told her she was the same age today as she had been yesterday, as if she'd expected to have grown at least five years older over-night." Her short-nailed fingers plucked at the elephant's droopy trunk. "She's growing up so fast as it is. Seems like just yesterday she was this toothless imp who cooed at me when she was happy or shrieked at me when she wanted something. It scares me sometimes, her impatience to grow up so quickly, you know?"

  She looked at him then. And Jake's stomach did a double dip. The fear she spoke of was there, along with the undeniable fear of never seeing her daughter again.

  She tugged her gaze away. "Ironic, really, that after I invested so much time in pointing out the exact date of her birthday she would spend that day away from me."

  Jake felt the sudden urge to wrap his fingers around something—more specifically, Gerald's neck.

  Michelle had said Lili's birthday was on Saturday, four days away. Maybe she'd see her daughter by then.

  "Is she talking much yet?" he asked, then cringed. Of course she was talking much. Just went to show how little he knew about children.

  Michelle's bark of laughter eased some of his tension. "Talking? She's a little speechmaker who's motto is 'have soapbox, will travel.' I don't know what they're teaching her in nursery school, or how she remembers everything so clearly, but when I pick her up, I get lectures on the importance of buckling my safety belt or the significance of brushing my teeth. Then there are the lessons on how she—and I—shouldn't talk to strangers. That was a big lesson, that one. She memorized our phone number. I'm very proud of her, even if half the time she transposes the last two digits. Just yesterday she was telling me about strangers—"

  She abruptly halted. Jake's chest tightened at the stricken look on her face. "What? What's the matter?" he asked, wanting to reach for her hand, but unable to. He cursed at his hesitation.

  "I … I just said she told me yesterday." Michelle caught her bottom lip between her teeth and shook her head. "Thank you."

  Jake grimaced. "Why should you be thanking me?"

  Her smile was weak and watery but inexplicably powerful. "For a second there, talking to you made me forget that I haven't seen my daughter for eight weeks. I used the present tense when talking about her, rather than the past. I … I haven't felt this close to her in a long, long time."

  This time Jake did reach out, before he had a chance to think about it, before he had a chance to hesitate. He cupped her cheek, marveling at the way she instinctively leaned into his touch. He rubbed the pad of his thumb against the dampness of her tears. What she had shared about Lili made the mental picture of her come to life. He could see the blond little girl's mouth going a mile a minute, her expressive face contorting as she realized this fact or that. He could see the fire in the woman next to him residing in Lili.

  Jake's gaze was drawn to Michelle's provocative mouth. He'd have given anything to kiss her right then, to taste the salt of her tears, the depth of her anguish.

  Instead, he forced his gaze to the road before he ran off it.

  * * *

  As the car cruised along the I-280 bridge over the Maumee River into Toledo, Michelle stared at the city's landscape, her heart pulsing in her chest. She knew an instant of fear. The city was larger than she expected. She'd assumed it would be a smaller town, like so many she'd seen over the past six weeks in her search for her daughter. Like Canton, where Gerald's parents lived. This city was too large, had too many places where one could hide a four-year-old girl.

  "Holy Toledo," Jake murmured next to her. She glanced at him.

  He gave her a small smile. "It's just something Klinger used to say on M.A.S.H. You know, Jamie Farr…" His words drifted off, and he turned to the road. "Sorry. It was an American TV show. It may have played in France?"

  She shook her head. "I've never watched much television."

  "Oh."

  She looked down to find herself clutching her backpack for dear life. She for
ced herself to relax her grip. "Not much farther now."

  "Nope," Jake quietly agreed.

  "In a few minutes I'll either have Lili back in my arms, or…"

  He reached for her hand, and she gladly gave it to him, familiar with the burst of desire that crept up her skin at his every touch. "We'll deal with the other when—if we come to it, okay?"

  She nodded. "Okay."

  She glanced at him, memorizing the lines of his profile, the strong jut of his jaw, and envisioned what he must have looked like as a little boy—tall, gangly, probably awkward. And silent, always silent

  There was an intensity about Jake McCoy that both intrigued and scared her. She knew what it was costing him to do this for her—on an emotional as well as a career level. Not that he'd ever really tell her. She got the impression that when he made up his mind about something, he did it. No long explanations. No voicing of possible regrets down the line. His reaction to their lovemaking told her that

  Before she knew it, he'd parked at a curb. A sign a couple of blocks back had announced the neighborhood as the Old West End. Large houses towered over nicely manicured streets. The leaves of some of the larger trees were beginning to turn vibrant oranges and reds. Such a pretty place. Such a dark mission.

  She turned toward Jake to find him staring at his rearview mirror. She glanced through the back window, half hoping, half fearing she would find him looking at Gerald. Instead, she saw a car resembling the one they were in parking a block down.

  He looked at her. "Are you ready?"

  She nodded, completely incapable of speech at that moment

  He climbed from the car, and she followed, meeting him on the brick walkway leading to the large Victorian-style home bearing the address Mr. and Mrs. Evans had given them. Michelle knew a stab of sorrow. Gerald had obviously reached a point where money was of no concern to him, yet he'd never offered any kind of financial support. And she didn't want any, she firmly told herself. His ability to inflict such irreversible pain on Lili by ripping her from everything that was familiar, all that she'd ever known, told her that no amount of money could make up for Gerald Evans's crime.

  Jake paused at the multipaned wood door, studying her face. Then he gave a quick nod and rang the doorbell. Michelle's heart nearly stopped right then and there.

  Nothing. No sound other than the bell reverberating through the large interior.

  He rang the bell again.

  "Hello, there!" a female voice called.

  Jake tugged his gaze from Michelle and sought the woman working on the lawn next door. She wore flowered Capri pants and a plain yellow T-shirt.

  "The Evanses aren't home. Susan has gone to visit her parents in Lansing."

  "And Gerald?" Jake asked, sounding amazingly like someone familiar with Lili's father.

  "He's on a business trip. California, I think. Due back either late tonight or tomorrow." She pulled off her flowered canvas gloves. "Would you like me to tell him you stopped by?"

  "No. No, thank you. We were just in the neighborhood and thought we'd drop in. I'll catch him at…"

  Michelle leaned closer and linked her hand with his. "Racquetball. He plays racquetball."

  "At the club," Jake finished.

  The woman nodded and returned to her gardening.

  Jake lead the way to the car at a leisurely pace. Michelle had to fight from dinging to his side, to keep her strides regular. She looked up to find him staring again at the car that had parked a block up. It was then she realized the driver hadn't gone into one of the houses. Rather, he sat in the driver's seat staring at them.

  Edgar Mollens.

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  « ^ »

  Damn. Edgar was on their tail, and probably had been since they'd left Canton, Ohio. By now he'd have contacted the main office and have an all-out search going for proof of Jake's marriage to Michelle. And the instant Edgar discovered there was none, Jake had no doubt his peer would pull him over and take Michelle from his custody.

  Custody. Now that was an odd choice of words. He felt he had as much control over Michelle's physical nearness as he had over the sun's quick slide tote west. He pressed the gas pedal down as he drove toward the tall buildings of downtown Toledo. He felt more like Michelle held him in an odd sort of custody, an indescribable limbo where he didn't know what was going to happen next but he knew that he didn't want to be anywhere except where he could be involved.

  An idea that had been playing along the fringes of his thoughts since Canton circled, growing closer to the center of his mind—much like the car he drove around Toledo, moving nearer and nearer to downtown.

  When all was said and done, the mere concept scared the hell out of him. But it was probably the only option left available to them if they hoped to buy a little more time with Edgar.

  He would have to make his fake marriage to Michelle real.

  Feeling ill, Jake looked into his rearview mirror. He'd lost Edgar in a snaking trail of traffic, for now. He lightened his hands on the steering wheel and turned a corner, what had to be the county courthouse looming in front of them, a building he'd been keeping an eye out for even before he'd firmly made the decision. Next to him, Michelle had gone silent. He suspected she'd spotted Edgar, as well. Her distance from him was probably better, he argued, despite the itching need to have her smack dab beside him, because given what he was about to do, it was important that his actions not be misconstrued.

  Michelle's head turned, not to look at him, but to stare at the courthouse as he pulled into a metered parking space. "What … what are we doing here?"

  He switched off the ignition and pocketed the keys. "We're going to get married."

  * * *

  Married?

  Michelle stared at him, convinced he had gone completely, utterly nuts.

  Sure, she supposed at one point in her life—likely when she was very young and still believed in fairy tales—she had thought marriage romantic. Believed it a union that would bring about a happily-ever-after ending. But with time, she realized there was no pastel-colored world waiting on the other side of the altar. It rained there as surely as it rained here. She'd seen it firsthand, through her parents' marriage, when her mother's death had ruined that happy ending, and her father's second marriage, that ran like a well-organized business powered by convenience and money, rather than thrived as a sacred union through unconditional love.

  Then, of course, there was her relationship with Gerald.

  All right, as difficult as it was to admit, the morning she'd learned she was pregnant with Lili, she'd idly entertained visions of lacy white dresses, rose-petal-strewn aisles and elaborately iced wedding cakes. But even now she found it odd that she'd never seen her and Gerald forging a life together. Never envisioned them taking Lili on walks through the park. Nor saw him rocking their daughter to sleep in the chair she'd inherited from her mother—the only piece she'd insisted be hers when she'd struck out on her own, no matter what color Jacqueline had painted it. No, just like in the old fairy tales, she had envisioned nothing after the I do part of the ceremony, the cutting of the cake and the opening of the gifts.

  Then the marriage proposal had come. Gerald had gotten down on one knee in the middle of the Champs de Mars, held out a ring box to her and asked her to be his wife. And she had looked into his eyes and had seen … nothing. No images of birthdays filled with family and laughter. No Christmases spent together decorating the tree. While their relationship had worked well until that point, it didn't have what it took to take it any further. To have married him … well, to have married him would have been to invite disaster.

  So she'd said no. And his obvious relief had only confirmed her thoughts as he'd leaned back on his heels and laughed.

  Michelle hadn't realized Jake had rounded the car and stood with her door open until a burst of moist, warm late summer air swept over her. She slowly looked at him, this large, mysterious man who had awakened so much in her, done so
much for her. Suddenly she saw wedding dresses and cakes again. She brutally rubbed her eyes to banish the image. And right on the heels of that one she saw Big Jake McCoy standing on a street corner holding Lili's hand in his, waiting for a school bus.

  "Merde."

  She opened her eyes to find Jake's hand in front of her. "Your presence is required, if this thing is to work," he said.

  Michelle sat right where she was, her heart thudding in her chest, her palms slippery and wet.

  Jake crouched outside the door, bringing him eye level with her. "There really is no other alternative, Michelle. I think you've figured out that Edgar is on our tail. He's probably waiting right now for proof that we're not married. And the instant he gets it, you can forget about waiting around for Gerald to return later tonight. Edgar wants to see documentation. And it's documentation I have to give him." He glanced toward a couple walking in their direction, the woman dressed in a short white dress holding a tiny bouquet, smiling at the man in the nice suit.

  Michelle sank her teeth into her bottom lip, then sighed. "I know."

  "You know?" Jake's dark brow rose on his forehead.

  She reached out to touch his unshaven cheek. He looked much more real with the stubble on his face, his hair slightly disheveled, his suit a bit wrinkled. "Yes. I know." She smiled. "You are a good man, Jake McCoy. If you promise something, you don't stop until it's done." She rubbed her thumb over the strong planes of his cheek. "And you promised me you would help me find Lili."

  His gray eyes darkened to the shade of warm mercury. "This, um, marriage will be in name only, Michelle. You understand that, don't you? If we don't produce a license, Edgar will have you on a plane bound for Paris faster than a flight attendant can say, 'Boarding pass, please.'"

  She withdrew her hand and laughed heartily. "Of course I know that. Did you think I intended to make you obey the part about 'until death do us part?'" She shook her head. "This will help you, as well, won't it? I mean, I know you've put your career at great risk by telling that man I was your wife. Producing the proper papers will keep you out of too much trouble, won't it?"